


That Sinking Feeling

by BreakfastTea



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: In retrospect, blowing the boat up while he was on it wasn’t Mac’s brightest idea ever.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	That Sinking Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays 😀 Here's a lil fic that's in no way festive but does feature a cold weather shipwreck! I saw this idea on Tumblr aaaaages ago and finally got this fic into shape :D

Jack paced back and forth, pebbles sliding underfoot. He stared at the sea, waiting. The choppy water attacked the shore, the sky overhead threatening an almighty storm. Jack didn’t care. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until Mac was back safe and sound.

Footsteps approached. “Jack?”

He turned to find Riley. Looked like it was her turn to try and talk him into waiting in the van. Bozer hadn’t succeeded earlier.

“I ain’t moving from this spot, Ri,” he told her.

“Yeah, we know. So, I brought you coffee from some place Bozer found.” A large takeaway cup appeared in Jack’s field of vision. Riley waggled it gently. “No point you getting sick from the cold.”

Jack took the coffee. He hadn’t realized just how cold he was until his stiff fingers struggled to hold the warm cup. “Mac would probably tell you I can’t get sick from the cold.”

“Uh, hypothermia?” Riley shot back.

Jack drew himself up to his full height. “Just ‘cause I’m from Texas and live in California, doesn’t mean I can’t deal with being cold for a while.”

“They’re gonna find him,” Riley said, holding her own cup between her hands. “I’ve got a satellite on it. Bozer’s monitoring.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I just…”

“I get it, trust me. Who blows up a boat they’re still standing on?” Riley asked. Jack could hear the fondness in her voice. “Which means Mac had a plan, and he’ll be fine.”

Jack snorted.

Riley sighed. “Maybe ‘plan’ isn’t the right word.”

“He left us behind,” Jack said.

“Kinda didn’t have a choice,” Riley said. “Not like he told the boat to sail off when it did.”

Jack bounced on his toes, partly to warm up, partly because he couldn’t stay still. “He gets into trouble when I’m not there and you know it.”

“Gets into plenty of trouble when you are there, too,” Riley replied with a smile.

“I know. It’s just better when I’m there to pull him out of it.”

Riley’s hand rested over Jack’s. “You’re here. Trust me, he’s gonna find his way to us, and you’ll pull him out just like you always do.”

Jack turned his gaze back to the sea. “You’re damn right I will.”

* * *

In retrospect, blowing the boat up while he was on it wasn’t Mac’s brightest idea ever.

The boat, an ancient fishing trawler, would soon be on the bottom of the English Channel, along with all the illegal weapons previously stowed aboard. Phoenix had been called in only because Matty owed someone in MI6 a favor.

And no, she didn’t give any hint to what had happened to leave her in someone else’s debt. They didn’t even know who the someone was, other than it being a high-up MI6 officer.

Mac knew better than to pry.

MI6 wanted to know how guns made it into the country, so Matty sent Mac and the others in to put a stop to it. The gun runners used a smaller port in the seaside city of Brighton. The fact that the group’s leader was an American with ties to several militia groups Stateside was an even better reason for Phoenix to get involved.

Matty and MI6 were officially even now, thanks to Riley’s hacking, Jack’s persuasive nature, Bozer’s disguises and Mac’s ability to use gunpowder as the perfect way to blow a hole in the side of the boat. He’d made sure they were far enough out in the Channel to avoid casualties.

Well…

Mostly. The arms dealers definitely had some burns. Probably a few bullet wounds too. The idiots had tried to save their guns and bullets when Mac’s explosion ripped a hole in the hull and started a fire. Realizing it was a lost cause, the dealers did the smarter thing and headed for their tiny lifeboat. Hopefully none of them noticed the improvised beacon Mac had taped to it. He’d made it out a shortwave radio and an amplifier he’d torn out of the ancient, long dead analogue TV still bolted to the wall in the ship’s galley.

Not that had been a galley anymore. There weren’t any bunk rooms either. Other than the wheelhouse, the ship only had storage. Lots and lots of storage. All the more room for their illegal guns.

Guns now on their way to the bottom of the Channel. The old trawler was going down fast. Mac raced back up to the deck, trying not to skid over patches of damp and rust. He really hoped MI6 appreciated all his hard work, especially now he only had one way off the rapidly sinking boat.

And it wouldn’t be in a lifeboat.

No, all he had was a life preserver. Or a _life jacket_ , if he wanted to be British about it. They made everything sound classy. Life jacket sounded like he was James Bond heading for an evening of drinks in a casino.

Struggling for balance, Mac pulled it on. The deck tipped at a dangerous angle beneath him. He needed to get clear. He stared into the churning grey sea beneath him. “This is gonna suck.”

Mac threw himself off the sinking, burning ship and into the sea.

Bitterly cold water sucked him in. Air bubbles stuttered out of him as his shocked body reacted, forcing his legs to kick him back to the surface. Mac broke through, struggling to suck air into his frozen lungs. Cold, cold, cold. His whole body shivered violently even as he forced himself to swim. He had to put distance between himself and the trawler so it couldn’t pull him down. After a couple of minutes, he looked back and saw the bow finally sink beneath the surface.

That was the guns dealt with. Alright, he needed to get back to the coast. Mac’s makeshift beacon would be useless if he didn’t tell Riley to track it down.

Turning in the water, he looked for land. It was still in sight. Barely. And the sea was rough and frigid, sapping his strength. The tide should help get him back to land rather than drag him further out to sea. He didn’t even care if he washed up on Brighton’s famous nudist beach that Jack had been so amused by. He just needed to get back to dry land.

Ignoring the terrible chill, Mac swam with the tide. The life preserver helped keep his head above water, but it didn’t stop the waves smacking into him, filling his mouth with seawater. He had to preserve his strength, kick only when it would propel him back to shore faster. And he needed to get back soon, because the sea drained everything he had. Even the life preserver wouldn’t keep his head above water if he passed out.

Mac never, ever, wanted to blow up a boat without a better escape route ever again. Especially in the winter. Next time he had to do something like this, he’d find a way to do it from a distance. Aboard another boat. Or from dry land. Using a remote timer.

He just had to survive this really bad idea first.

Mac kept swimming. He’d gone beyond cold now. His body felt numb, clumsy. His thoughts felt strange, slow, tangled up in each other. How much longer could he endure this? The only way out was to reach the beach. The fact that he’d stopped shivering wasn’t a good sign.

Cresting a wave, he saw the beach was closer than ever. He could definitely make it.

The sea, however, had another idea.

Salty water shoved him under the surface. He kicked his way back up, bursting through. He dug deep to find the extra strength he needed. The sea fought back, pulling him under the surface at every opportunity. He didn’t care. He wasn’t giving up. Not this close to the shoreline.

Even if it might be the shoreline of a nudist beach. No one would be hanging out naked on a beach in this weather…

Then again, he’d read about Brighton’s annual naked bike ride. Thinking about the anatomical logistics of _that_ was enough to see him back to shore. He waded his way out of the sea on legs that were barely strong enough to carry him. Freezing cold and out of the water, Mac still felt adrift, his body swaying with a current that wasn’t there anymore. The weirdness made him chuckle to himself.

Pebbles shifted beneath him. Mac lost his already precarious balance. He crashed to the ground, wincing as his body hit the rocks.

Cold, exhausted, he fought to stay awake. He needed to get off the beach, find the others…

His eyes slid shut. He heard footsteps closing in rapidly.

As the darkness took over, he could only hope it wasn’t a nudist coming to grab him. He really needed a towel…

* * *

Jack saw him first. He wasn’t sure what about it caught his eye, but he saw the unmistakable shape of someone – Mac – drifting closer to shore. He and Riley were on the other end of the beach, the length of a football field between them and where Mac would make land.

“I’ll get the van as close as I can,” Riley said, taking off for the parking area on the road leading to the beach.

Knowing he could always rely on her, Jack took off, ready to intercept Mac.

He watched Mac drag himself out of the water, make it two steps onto dry(ish) land, and fall face first onto the beach. He didn’t move again, didn’t try and pull himself further up the beach. Jack swore and picked up the pace, cursing the pebbles shifting beneath him.

He skidded to Mac’s side a minute later, hands reaching for a pulse. He found it under layers of soaking wet clothes. Tearing off the life preserver, Jack felt Mac’s chest rising and falling with every steady breath he took. Tension flooded out of Jack’s limbs.

“Mac!” Jack gave him a hard shake. “C’mon, man, wake up. This ain’t the place for a nap.”

Mac stirred. “Jack?” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m here. Gonna sit you up.” Jack pulled Mac up, letting him fall back against his chest. “There we go. You hurt anywhere?”

Mac shook his head, wet hair falling over his eyes. “Just cold.” The words stuttered out.

“Good thing Riley’s got the van warmed up and waiting,” Jack said. “Think you can stand?”

Mac gripped Jack’s hand. “I sank the boat.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Jack said. He pulled Mac to his feet, catching him when his knees gave out. “Take it slow.”

“Need to trace them,” Mac said. “Made a beacon.” His teeth chattered so hard it made Jack’s jaw ache in sympathy. “Gotta find ‘em.”

“We will. Van first, bad guys second.”

Jack mostly carried Mac to the van. He was about as steady as a drunk teenager, balance wrecked by the time he’d spent in the sea and his dangerously low body temperature. Riley and Bozer waited, back doors open, heat pumping.

“Mac made a beacon,” Jack said before Mac could try speaking. “Think you can track it down?”

“Sure.” Riley switched places, letting Jack climb into the driver’s seat. She moved to the back of the van where Mac sat on the ground, shivering in his wet clothes. “Sorry,” she said. “We don’t have anything dry you can change into.”

“Just stick close the vents,” Bozer said. “We’ll get you someplace with dry clothes soon. And coffee.”

Jack made a mental note to always throw blankets into any van they ever used in the future. “We’ll head back to the apartment Matty set up for us. We’ve got hours before exfil.”

While Riley got to work locating the tracker and Mac continued shivering and dripping in the back of the van, Jack drove them as calmly and legally as he could manage. He trusted Bozer to keep Mac awake and talking. In fact, Bozer’s steady stream of talking and Mac’s occasional responses helped Jack relax. He drove along Brighton’s seafront, past a huge range of old, luxury apartment buildings. Matty had secured them somewhere quieter on the city’s northern limits. It was shabby, rundown, and no one would notice their coming and going. Jack didn’t care. There were blankets, dry clothes and hot food available there, and Mac needed all of that asap.

“Got it,” Riley said five minutes into their drive. “Man, these guys are drifting further out to sea. They’ll hit France if they don’t manage to turn around.” She glanced at Mac. “You’re lucky.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah, I washed up on the nudist beach.”

Jack snorted. “Man, I forgot about that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Bozer said.

Riley shook her head. “Good thing the weather’s crap, otherwise that would’ve been seriously awkward.”

“Uh huh,” Mac said.

“Hey, no shaming people!” Bozer shot back. “Let ‘em live their best lives.”

“Amen, brother,” Jack said. “Riley, call Matty and give her the coordinates. She can let her MI6 guy know where their idiots are at.”

“On it,” Riley said.

“You alright back there, Mac?” Jack called. He threaded the van through the traffic, taking care not to run anyone over. Pedestrians in cities were the same the world over thinking, they were invincible.

“Great,” Mac mumbled.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Jack ordered.

“Too cold to sleep,” Mac said, sounded fainter than before. There was a distinct slur to his voice too.

“Stay awake, man,” Bozer said. “Don’t make me start telling Stories.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mac muttered.

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Bozer said. “Like about that time in high school when you thought you’d prove – ”

“’m awake.”

“Then why are your eyes closed, Mac?” Bozer asked.

Mac didn’t reply.

“Dammit.” Jack put his foot down, risking breaking the speed limit. They needed to be back at the apartment, now.

“Okay, Matty, we’ll wait for exfil,” Riley said into her phone. “If the Royal Navy needs me, I’m ready. Yeah, I’ll let the others know… Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow.” She ended the call. “Matty says MI6 and the Royal Navy already picked up on the beacon are on their way to fish the weapon dealers out of the Channel.”

“Nice work,” Jack said. At last, he pulled onto the road where their apartment waited. It was a residential area, full of rundown housing that had definitely seen better days. Their apartment had once been a grand townhouse, but it’d been converted years ago and didn’t look like anyone had taken care of it. Squeezing the van into a parking space outside their building, Jack killed the engine. “Let’s get inside.”

Riley led the way while Jack and Bozer had to help Mac out of the van, up the narrow stairs to the front door, and into their second-floor apartment. A hall with an ill-fitting red carpet led to a tiny lounge, a kitchen the size of a closet, a bathroom that barely had space for a shower, and a bedroom with a double bed. The furniture was at least thirty years out of date, and the air carried a faint stench of boiled cabbage.

“This is nasty,” Jack grumbled.

“Still better than half the places I tried renting in LA,” Riley muttered.

Mac seemed more out of it than before, docile and silent. Jack pushed him into the bathroom. He didn’t put up a fight when Jack began stripping his wet layers.

“Here.” Bozer held out a large towel.

“Thanks,” Jack said. He placed it over Mac, scrubbing his dripping wet hair. “Riley, can you get the coffee on?”

“You betcha,” she said.

“I’ll get all the blankets,” Bozer said, heading back out of the bathroom.

With Bozer and Riley occupied, Jack made quick work of removing Mac’s remaining layers. His lips were blue, as were his fingertips. He was definitely hypothermic. Jack just hoped they could warm him up here without any medical support.

“You with me?” Jack asked.

Mac grunted.

“Wanna try and be more convincing than that?” Jack scrubbed Mac with the towel, drying him off as best he could.

“Cold,” Mac muttered.

“Not for long,” Jack said.

“Blankets!” Bozer announced from the bathroom’s doorway.

“Thanks.” Jack took them from him and began wrapping Mac up in them. Half-asleep, Mac didn’t say anything as Jack led him out of the bathroom and into the apartment’s tiny bedroom. Bozer had already pulled the covers back, ready for Mac. Jack got Mac tucked up in bed and sat beside him, partly to help warm him through but mostly to keep a close eye on him. Bozer squeezed himself into a corner of the room. Riley came in with coffee and even a hot water bottle. Jack tucked it into the blankets. Mac was already asleep.

“Matty give you an ETA on exfil?” Jack asked.

“Three hours,” Riley said, handing out the coffees. “A car’s gonna pick us up, take us back to the airport.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said. “We’ll let him sleep for a couple hours, then get him ready.”

“His clothes are in the drier,” Bozer said.

Jack reached over, fist held out. “That’s my team. Always looking out for each other.”

Bozer and Riley bumped his fist. An alert pinged from Riley’s phone. She pulled it out, a smirk lighting up her face. “Looks like the beacon worked. The weapons dealers are all in custody and Matty says the Royal Navy are launching recovery efforts on everything Mac sent to the bottom of the English Channel.”

“Awesome!” Bozer said. “We are good.”

“You’re damn right we are.” Jack sat back against the headboard, ruffling Mac’s damp hair. Another bunch of bad guys stopped, Matty’s debt was repaid, and Mac would be fine after some sleep and a chance to properly thaw out.

Not a bad day’s work.

* * *

“C’mon, man, I got coffee with your name on it.”

Jack’s voice filtered through the darkness. Mac frowned. Why was it so dark? And why was he so damn cold?

“Coffee and toast. C’mon, Mac, don’t make me rip all these blankets off you. None of us wanna scar Bozer and Riley for life at the sight of your naked ass.”

Naked? Why was he naked?

Wait… wasn’t there a nudist beach somewhere nearby?

“The hell you dreaming about, dude?”

“’s naked people on a beach,” Mac said.

“Is he running a fever?” That was Bozer’s voice.

Mac felt a hand on his forehead. It was so warm. “Nope. Definitely not. Still too cold for my liking. C’mon, Mac, rise and shine.”

Mac managed to crack his eyes open. He saw Jack sat beside the bed, the promised coffee mug in his hands.

“How you feeling?” Jack asked.

“Cold,” Mac said. He did not want to move unless it meant he’d be warmer.

“You look better,” Bozer said. “Although I don’t think I wanna know what you were dreaming about.”

“None of us do,” Riley piped up. Looking over, Mac saw both Bozer and Riley sat on the bedroom floor.

Mac hugged the coffee mug, drawing heat from it. “Huh?”

Riley stared at him. “Naked people on beaches?” she asked. “Ring any bells?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mac said. “The beach, remember?”

“Man, if I had known, I would’ve undressed appropriately,” Jack said, leaning back.

Riley threw her hands in the air. “And I’m scarred for life.”

“Seconded,” Bozer said.

“Wait ‘til I tell you about the naked bike ride,” Mac said.

“Naked bike ride?” Now Jack sounded suitably horrified. “But… but… Your… I mean… Where does… How do you…?”

“Look at that, Mac!” Bozer said “You actually broke Jack.”

“All I’m saying is parts of the human body require protection!” Jack said, wriggling in his seat.

“No one’s asking you to try it,” Riley said.

Mac and Bozer snorted.

“Alright, you three, enough. Our ride’s gonna be here in thirty minutes because sleeping beauty over here wouldn’t wake up,” Jack said, jabbing a finger at Mac. “Your clothes are there,” he jabbed the same finger at a pile on the end of the bed, “and you better get your butt in them or else you’re flying home in your birthday suit.”

“I’ll get dressed,” Mac said.

“Okay, good,” Jack said.

“I can take care of that myself,” Mac said.

“You ain’t got nothing I ain’t already seen.”

“Jack.” Mac knew Jack cared, and army life meant he wasn’t overly shy about being naked, but still. He did not need an audience.

“I’ll turn my back if you’re feeling that shy.”

Riley muttered something under her breath and left them to it. Bozer hurried after her.

“Just let me get dressed,” Mac said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”

Jack sighed. “Fine. But if I hear any thuds, or you take longer than a minute, I am coming back in here.” He followed the others out the room.

Knowing Jack would be true to his word, Mac sucked in a deep breath and tossed the blankets aside. He shivered, the deep cold still well and truly settled in his bones. He grabbed his still-warm-from-the-drier clothes and yanked them on. They weren’t enough to fight of the hypothermia, so he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. For a moment, he remembered childhood games with Bozer in the back yard, the pair of them pretending to be superheroes, blankets for capes.

“Car’s outside!” Bozer called. “Let’s go!”

Eager to get on a plane home, Mac shook off his memories and huddled into the blanket. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden wave of dizziness. He still felt like he was at sea, his body moving with a phantom tide. That, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten in hours.

Forcing himself to walk, Mac left the room. As promised, Jack hadn’t moved from the door. And he hovered behind Mac as they left the apartment and headed down to the waiting car. Mac definitely felt unsteady, and heading downstairs wasn’t helping. He felt too hot, sweat pumping from his pores as nausea rocked him. Static washed over his vision. Sounded faded out.

“Mac? Mac!”

He dragged his eyes open, finding himself resting against the stairs, his upper body cradled against Jack’s chest. Riley and Bozer stood further down the stairs, looking back up at them, sharing worried expressions.

“Sorry,” Mac said, trying to get his tongue to form the word properly. “Got dizzy.”

“Think you blacked out for a second there,” Jack said. “Let’s take it slower.”

Still light-headed, Mac allowed himself to be manhandled down the stairs, out the building, and the large black Range Rover waiting for them. When Jack opened the rear passenger door, Mac saw the armor-plating. Riley sat up front. Bozer sat behind the driver. Mac hauled himself in, feeling the reassuring weight of Jack’s hand on his back in case he passed out again. He slid into the middle seat, head spinning. Bozer helped him with his seatbelt while he positioned the blanket over himself. He was too tired and cold to go without it.

Jack climbed in last. “Think this is the kinda car the Queen drives around in?” he asked as the Range Rover slid away from the curb.

“Probably,” Mac said through a yawn. He felt heavy with exhaustion, his eyes gritty.

“Here,” Riley said from the front passenger seat. She tossed a brown take away bag at Mac. Inside were a collection of still warm pastries. “Our driver very kindly bought food on her way over.”

“Thanks,” Mac said, his stomach growling, his still cold body relishing the heat emanating from the bag.

“You’re welcome,” the woman said without taking her eyes off the road. Mac caught sight of her smile in the rearview mirror. “I recommend the cinnamon whirl.”

“Cinnamon whirl, gotcha.”

Mac inhaled that. And a croissant. Afterward, he passed the bag to Bozer and fell asleep until he was awoken at a private airport an hour or so later, the Phoenix jet waiting for them.

“Time to go home,” Jack said.

Back to the Californian sunshine where winter meant it was just less hot than summer. Smiling in relief, Mac freed himself from the seatbelt and carried himself and his blanket into the jet. He dropped onto the couch. He allowed his eyes to close, the sounds of his friends filling the darkness though.

“Goddamn,” Jack muttered.

“What?” Bozer asked, keeping his voice low.

“This bike ride thing!” Jack said.

“Let it go, Jack,” Riley said. “No one’s asking you to take part.”

“There are photos!” Jack sounded even more horrified that before. “Holy sh – would you look at this?!”

Mac fell asleep with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Brighton is a real city and yes, there is both a nudist beach and a naked bike ride.


End file.
